Calls Me Home
by PhoenixSong2013
Summary: The Harry Potter we knew of never met his parents. But, when the dead begin to appear all over the country, he's begun to have hope that he might know his parents. When they finally return, along with all of the people he felt guilty about leading to their deaths, they have quite a lot to have catch up on, and so does he. HP/GW RW/HG JP/LE SB/MM RL/NT
1. Prologue

The Head Auror's office door was wide open, revealing the utter mess and chaos that was inside; no one had made an effort to change what consisted of what remained of the panic that had ensued. No one had disturbed the Head Auror, whose form was slumped helplessly over the desk as he poured over the several pieces of paper littered there, the thick and slightly shaky form of the handwriting pressed into the parchments worrying him far more than the cartloads of letters he had been receiving from all over England and the majority of Europe, though this worried him quite the bit.

Tired emerald eyes swept over the parchments as shaking, pale fingers came up to rub his temples as he fought internally with himself; he could either leave the country for a while to search through Europe for the new magical signatures, or he could remain here and focus on England before worrying about other countries. He couldn't leave other countries in peril, in times of need and depending on him, but the problem was far larger in England than in France, Italy or Germany and he couldn't afford to leave without expecting a big problem to occur within the Ministry about his absence; the Minister came once a day, an incompetent fool that rarely did anything without Harry's advice, to ask him about the problems that had developed and the best way to deal with them.

"Dammit," he cursed, shaking his head as he dropped the papers. Harry Potter knew that he would most likely stay home, for the Minister and for himself and his family. He couldn't afford to leave at panicked times like this.

People were appearing all over the country, people who had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and the world was welcoming it as a gift; more and more people were being escorted into his office each day to be questioned and he couldn't help but wonder whether this was a curse or a blessing for him – none of them had been Sirius, Remus and his wife Tonks, or his parents, and he would spend his time just pining to see their faces appear in the doorway and for them to be real. There had, of course, been plenty of imposters claiming to be Lily and James Potter, Sirius Black, or Dora and Remus Lupin, but they had been sent on their way or into Azkaban for impersonating war heroes.

He couldn't quite wonder why things were happening, or how they were happening. There were no spells to raise the dead, no rituals that could bring back bodies. He had been through the Black family library, searching for Dark magic that could bring them back. But they were good people who had been brought back to life and he couldn't find anything that would suggest how things were happening; he had asked the people who had been brought back but they, however, knew nothing. The last things they had remembered was the way they had died, but they couldn't remember their afterlife or anything else about what happened to them to bring them back to life. It frustrated him more than anything that other people were just taking it in stride and he couldn't quite do that.

Even Hermione Weasley was stumped about it; she was working overtime in the Department of Mysteries, working on theories and proven spells to figure out how things were happening, but nothing worked. Harry could relate to the frustration that was clearly shown whenever he spotted her within the Ministry as well as outside it, and the two would spend their time together hunched over various plans of new and improved spells that might work. They had even pondered over the Resurrection Stone for a while, but Harry hadn't seen or feel it move from the Forbidden Forest since the battle and, since he was still the Master of Death, he couldn't feel anyone else use it.

"You're overworking again, Harry," said an amused voice from the doorway, and he looked up at Hermione, who was leaning against the doorframe and flashing him a tired smile as she moved into the room. "You always did feel badly about not understanding things other people didn't, even if it wasn't your fault. Go home and relax for a little while, Harry, you're being ridiculous about the whole thing."

"Hermione, you know as well as I do that I'm not going to move much farther than three inches until my parents come walking through that door," he retorted, shrugging as he dropped the parchments and waved her to the seat across from his desk.

"About that, Harry," said Hermione quietly, settling in the chair. "I'm wondering whether this is actually going to happen, I mean… what happens if your parents don't come walking through the door, Harry? You'd be waiting in here forever and you'd be so heartbroken about it."

He sighed and shrugged. "I'd deal with it – I always do."

Hermione sighed along with him and reached across the desk to take his hand, squeezing it. "Take care of yourself, and don't stress out if they're not here straight away – it's only just started, after all. It might be the most recent to the least recent, you never know."

Harry nodded, forcing a smile and then watching her slip out of her chair and slide through the door. "Bye, Hermione!"

"See you later, Harry," she agreed, closing the door. "I'll be by later to see Ginny. We haven't had tea in a while."

Harry sighed and picked up the parchment, resigning himself to hours of reading over reports of old and new magical signatures being picked up in Cambridge. He didn't care about any other magical signature other than his parents, but he was giving up on hope of ever seeing them alive again. If they hadn't appeared so far, why would they?

Little did he know, in Godric's Hollow's graveyard, two forms, one with long hair and another with messy dark hair, formed on top of the graves of Lily and James Potter.


	2. The Graveyard

Emerald eyes flew open, her fingers scrambling across the dry earth beneath her almost instinctively for her wand; she couldn't breathe, couldn't think coherently, because the last thing she remembered was the bright green light filling the room as the spell struck her in the chest. Lily Potter gasped for breath, sitting up and fumbling on the dirt floor for anything she could find; she didn't fancy being left alone with the dimming sky above her throbbing over her without a weapon for defence.

Lily's eyes narrowed as they searched the landscape, the tears brimming in her eyes – if she was dead, what had become of her son, Harry? And, if she was dead, where was James? He had died before she, standing between her, Harry and the dark lord Voldemort – he would surely be there with her, unless she had somehow survived the Killing Curse.

She shook her head and continued searching the graveyard, her emerald eyes steadily flowing with tears; she and James visited the graveyard daily and it seemed to have doubled in the amount of graves, though there was a large tomb sitting at the edge of the property that hadn't been there before. Should she stand and move? She didn't quite trust her legs yet, so she settled on shuffling to the side.

However, she quickly found her way blocked by the form lying beside her. "James!" she felt her fingers shake as she reached over and shook him roughly by the shoulders; she didn't know what she would do if he was just lying there beside her, dead and gone and never coming home. "Jamie, don't you be dead, Jamie, don't you die on me!" she pleaded as she hung over him, shaking him far more roughly than necessary.

He was in a state of disarray, but he had never looked so handsome to her. His messy dark hair was sitting atop his head in a mop of untidy ebony, his hazel eyes closed peacefully behind his askew glasses, his skin coloured and giving him a glow behind the paleness of his face. "James," she murmured brokenly, hovering over his face as her hands fluttered over his cheeks, hoping to wake him just by the gentleness she had abandoned by shaking him. "James Charlus Potter, if you don't wake up right now I swear I will hex you!"

"Easy, Lils, it's not every day that I wake up to a beautiful woman threatening to hex my balls off," James groused, and her heart lifted and soared. Lily gave in to the reckless abandon and cast herself atop him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he eased himself up into a sitting position, taking her gently and placing her in his lap as he searched the graveyard around him in mild shock. "Is this a Death Eater trick?"

"I d-don't remember m-much other t-than the light and H-Harry," she murmured, pulling back and watching him with wet eyes. "I'm sorry I've failed him, James," Lily Potter slowly began to sob, dropping herself into her husband's arms as she curled up against him. "He's probably alone, or scared, or d-dead."

"Hey, now," James looked down at her, his own tear soaked eyes betraying the small smile on his face. "We'll go search the house for him – there's a chance that he's still alive if we are."

Lily paused and then eased herself from his lap. "But… what if we're not? What if we've left him? Oh, my poor baby, all alone to face Lord Voldemort and oh how could I be so stupid! Why didn't I grab the Portkey in the bathroom instead of the one in the bedroom? How could I be so utterly idiotic? It's all my fault… he's probably so scared, James! My poor Harry, my poor Harry, how could I have left him? Oh… I'm a terrible mother…!"

James clapped a hand over his mouth, a small smile replacing the grim smirk that had been there before. "Lily, calm down – we don't know what happened yet. Let's go and check the house. And, whatever happened, you haven't failed anyone by any standard. Peter is a treacherous git and we know that now – but I'm wondering what became of Padfoot. Everyone thought he was our Secret Keeper, didn't he?"

"Oh, my Merlin," Lily gasped, shaking herself. "I never did think about the consequences poor Sirius would face if we didn't tell someone – we should have told Remus, darn everything else. I told you that he would never betray us and you didn't believe me. James, he's still your brother and you didn't trust him; that's the ultimate betrayal, no matter what Peter did in the first place, and now that we can be there and provide evidence for Sirius you've got to be there for him."

"You're overreacting, Lily," he replied after a moment of contemplation, using the gravestone behind them to push himself from the ground. She glared at him as she stood up and made to move towards the kissing gate at the edge of the graveyard, but her husband's shocked gasps from behind her halted her in her tracks. "Look, Lily," he breathed.

_JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER_

_BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960_

_DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981_

_The Last Enemy That Shall Be Destroyed Is Death_

Lily's breath was taken away. She had written her will, unknown to James, only the week before, and it appeared that someone, most likely Remus, had discovered the will inside her chest of drawers that she had vowed to show to James; she hadn't had the chance before they had both died. But they had complied with her wishes… but she had also asked that her son, if he died young, should be buried between them… that meant he wasn't dead.

"He isn't dead!" she yelled jovially, hopping on the spot and dancing around, the utter joy in her movements spiking her husband's curiosity as she continued to celebrate. "Harry's alive, Harry's alive, my son's alive and well and he isn't dead and I didn't fail him! James, Harry's alive! He isn't dead!"

"How'd you figure?" asked James, his spirits lifting. If his wife's words were true, then his son, his Harry, was still alive, and that meant more to him than the world did. He would give anything to have his son alive, even if he wasn't with him, but the prospect of not failing him was far more exciting than having him in his arms. "Lily? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"The will!" Lily beamed at him, coming to a halt in front of him and cupping his face, leaning forward and kissing him swiftly and soundly. "I wrote it while you were with Padfoot in the attic trying to clean it out for the extra playroom we wanted for our Harry, and I was going to tell you about it the night we – we died. But I never got the chance. And in the will I wanted for him to be buried between us if he died young, and he was one, wasn't he? He was nowhere near seventeen and I remember writing a note to Remus on the coffee table the morning before it happened about the will in my desk drawer if anything happened to us. They would've found it, wouldn't they? Harry is alive because he isn't buried with us!"

His heart soared and he grabbed her around the waist, hauling her into the air and twirling her around. "I love you, my lovely little Lily, you're brilliant," James' grin was infectious and he couldn't stop himself from sprinting towards the kissing gate. "Come on! What are we waiting for? I want to see my son!"

Lily laughed as she followed him; neither bothered trying to be inconspicuous; their hair was a mess, their feet pounding against the cold stone pavements, their jovial shouts ringing through the village as their torn and matted robes flowed around their ankles. Neither cared about the prophecy, about the Death Eaters hunting them, and they certainly didn't care about the people staring at them as they tore through the village and towards their house.

It looked the same as it had always done, but it was different. When they had bought it, it had been run down and abandoned by the last owners who hadn't done a good job of taking care of their house and, despite their best efforts to make it more homely and warm, they hadn't quite succeeded in making it feel so homely and loved and positively warm as the people who lived there now had.

There was a woman gardening just inside the front gate, wearing a Quidditch jersey and sitting on the soft emerald grass, pushing the soil into the ground around a beautiful plant that looked more like a cross between a lily and a begonia, but it was beautiful nonetheless and Lily felt slightly humbled beside it. When James cautiously rested a hand on the gate, the woman looked up and raised an eyebrow at them.

"Hullo," said Lily carefully, watching the woman mistrustfully. The woman's ginger hair tumbled down her back in tamed curls and her bright brown eyes were full of wonder, wisdom and mischief; her skin was pale and her cheeks were slightly freckled, and she had grown slightly rounder with age though Lily could tell that this woman was anything but unfit. "My husband and I… we have a few questions for you."

"I suspected as much," said the woman evenly, standing up and brushing off the snug jeans. She was wearing a lavender blouse that looked nothing like something that a witch would wear, but by the other plants in the garden, unusual ones that both of them remembered seeing in Pomona Sprout's greenhouse, suggested that she was magical. "Do come inside, I'll set out the tea tray. I'm afraid I'll have to pop out to fetch the children but I shan't be long, they're in the back garden."

Lily nodded and watched carefully as the woman leaned forward and pushed open the gate, gently letting them inside though she eyed them slightly distrustfully. "My name is Lily, and this is my husband, James," she said swiftly, sweeping past the woman as she rolled up her sleeves and travelled quickly towards the front door. "I don't suppose that your children should be needed in our conversation, however. There is no need to call them back inside just for you to send them back out again."

"No," agreed the woman, smirking as James slid the gate shut behind them. "But there is a point in bringing them inside for their baths – they've been in the mud all day and only Merlin knows what they look like now. None of them know when to stop when it comes to playing." James snickered, but when Lily flushed and glared at him he stopped immediately, transforming the snicker into an inconspicuous cough. "Come inside, please do. Take your cloaks off and hang them up on the hangar on the other side of the front door, and the living room is the first door on the left."

"Thanks," said James evenly as the woman smiled at them one last time and journeyed around the side of the house, disappearing on the other side of the house. He and Lily exchanged a glance as they opened the front door and slipped inside the house.

The hallways were painted a beautiful cornflower blue, far more welcoming than the dull beige that they'd not bothered to change. Family portraits were hung up in haphazard places down the hallway, but it made it seem warmer and lovingly warm and Lily simply adored the place. The carpets were a soft crème, and as she slid off her boots obediently and slid them onto the rack beside the door, her bare feet slid onto the carpet easily and she internally sighed as she sunk into the fluff; she adored the house already.

She travelled down the hallway at a leisurely place, savouring the comfort the house provided her with. The living room walls were painted a deep Gryffindor red, almost as red as the woman's head of fiery hair, and the leather sofas were inviting and she wanted to sink into them easily. There was a fire already burning merrily in the grate and the electric lights were on overhead, but she couldn't help herself sinking into the sofa and sighing in relief. The mantle above the fire was covered in pictures, and she saw James approach the mantle with an absent eye.

James, meanwhile, picked up the first picture upon the mantle and had to suck in a gasp. The family in this picture looked so much like the family he'd wanted to have; the father, the eldest man in the top corner who looked to be in his early thirties, had the same messy ebony locks as he had, a pair of emerald eyes shining brightly and merrily from underneath a pair of askew wire-rimmed glasses. He was tall and had muscles, but he was lean and slightly lanky, and his crooked grin was so similar to James' that he had to hold in another gasp.

Beside the man in the photo, stood the same woman they had seen out on the front garden gardening. She looked in her mid-thirties but she was nonetheless beautiful. Her hair was in a fiery waterfall bun atop her head and her smile was radiant; she looked so much like Lily it startled him, but her dark brown eyes were enough to give away that she was not indeed his wife. In her arms sat a little girl, with the same fiery red hair, but her eyes were a beautiful emerald colour, sparkling in the light from the sun above their heads. Her skin was a beautiful shade of porcelain and she looked around six years old, wearing a large cloak that looked far too baggy to be hers.

Standing in front of the man, whose arm was around his shoulders, stood a boy whose hair was a vibrant bubblegum blue, his eyes a brilliant amber colour with browning flecks inside them. His grin was crooked and he was tall for his age, which appeared to be around fourteen years old. Standing beside the boy was a little boy who looked like a younger version of himself, with the same messy hair and hazel eyes and glasses, though his eyes were slightly darker, but they were alight with the same spark of mischief.

And, finally, there was a boy standing in between the man and the woman, his hands linked with the boys' in front of him and his crooked smile bright and unbelievably infectious. His messy ebony hair sat atop his head in an unruly mess and his emerald eyes shone happily from in his pale face, but he could see the faint line of freckles that smattered his cheeks and gave him a healthy look. James sighed unhappily; he looked like an older Harry in the flesh, right down to the slight dimples in his cheeks as he smiled; but, however, he didn't hone the glasses that Harry had inherited and for this reason he could distinguish the difference.

The man, however… there was something about the man in the photo that looked familiar. If only he could meet this man, find out where he had seen him before…

"I'm glad you like my family photos, Mr Potter," said an amused voice from the doorway, and the woman came in, supporting the same girl from the picture on her hip as the girl giggled. "I'd hoped you'd take notice of them more than the rest, but I suppose that it's karma you should be caught trying to smuggle away my family portraits." She settled down on the sofa opposite Lily as James flushed and put the photo down.

"My name is Ginny Potter, and this little princess is Lily Luna Potter," she smiled indulgently at them, even as Lily gaped at her and shrank into her husband's side. "I'm sure you have a few questions to ask me."

"A few!" burst out Lily, shaking her head. "My name is Lily Potter and this is my husband James. We woke up in the graveyard just down the road and now someone else is living in our house and I'm confused because you have the same name as us."

James nodded earnestly while Ginny grinned. "I think you two should meet the Head Auror," she said imperiously, and she set the girl on the floor. "Run along, Lily, I'll be back with Auntie 'Mione before you know it and then you can play with Hugo, how does that sound?" Lily Luna nodded and giggled, turning around and running up the stairs, calling jovially to the other three upstairs as she did so.

"Now. The Head Auror's dying to see you."

* * *

**_I'd like to welcome you all to the first official chapter. I'm so pleased that, within the first twenty four hours of posting, that someone's actually read it without the first chapter, and I'd love to thank each and every one of you. Thank you for reviewing and favouriting and know that I plan to finish this story down to the last word - please continue to read along with me and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I adore writing it._**

**_Love,_**

**_Marlene_**


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